Some Conversation
by A Little Rusty
Summary: Butch held out his hand, wordlessly asking her if she trusted him enough. And bless her damned soul because she honestly does so she takes it. Blues wedding. Bickering Reds. Reluctant Greens.
1. 5 Feet and a Cake

"Buttercup," Butch's hand was on her shoulder and she doesn't know why but the way he said her name, _softly_ , is getting to her.

It makes her feel girly. _He_ makes her feel girly. What more was she should have sensed him coming; she was so off her game today.

So naturally, instead of batting her eyelashes like Bubbles might've, she roughly shrugged his hand off her bare shoulder when she turns around.

"What?" she says gruffly, crossing her arms over her chest. She's greeted with this far off look on his familiar features. And it's distracting but she's too proud to even admit it to herself.

There's a lurch in her chest that tells her that she actually misses the fucker.

Like many things these past months, she ignores it.

He looks about ready to throw out a careless zinger but she beats him to it.

She arches one eyebrow up, _daring_ him to comment on the soft pastel green bridesmaid dress she has on. Or even the silver heels Blossom paired it with.

Butch, for once, was smart enough to acknowledge her silent threats. He shook his head and his trademark smirk was in place again.

"They need you in the kitchen," he snickered probably thinking how domestic it sounded, "something about a shoe falling in the cake."

Butch watched as the color comically drained from her face. Oh, god, he wished he had the forethought of whipping out his phone to capture the rare moment before she zipped to the hotel's kitchen.

He allowed himself a moment of tragedy before following her.

* * *

Butch was just in time to see Blossom struggling to strangle his oldest brother while he tries to keep his neck safely out of reach.

He would've laughed out loud but he really wasn't in the mood to catch the bloodlust in Blossom's eye.

Instead he watched as his counterpart examined the five tiered (honestly who commissions a **five feet** five tiered cake?) with the big dent to one side.

Her blood was just about boiling; he could feel it even with five feet between them.

Butch watched, as if in slow motion, as she slowly marched her way to Brick and slapped him upside the head knocking his beloved baseball cap off.

"You idiot," she says coolly.

By now Blossom had simmered down but was petulantly crossing her arms, like she was keeping from dealing a blow herself.

It was funny, Butch had to admit, seeing his normally collected brother massaging the back of his head a faint blush on his cheeks.

"What idiot steps on a cake?" Buttercup asked her brother-in-law or soon to be ex-brother-in-law.

"Believe me, puff, it wasn't on purpose," Brick grumbled out totally cowed, or at least Butch likes to think.

Buttercup scrunched her eyes close, willing a migraine to not come. There was minute tic to her right eyebrow Butch noticed though. Even 5 feet away? He's marginally proud of himself. Not to mention he knows what this entailed; him noticing her so much, that is.

"Forget about the cake, what about _my_ **pants** and goddamn **shoe?"** Brick complained loudly. Stupidly too, Butch gathers from the collective spike in blood pressure from the two sisters.

"You're uninvited to the wedding," Blossom seethed out.

Brick snapped his attention to his wife.

"You can't uninvite me! It's my brother's wedding too!" Brick was outraged.

"You should've thought about that before _STEPPING_ on the goddamned cake!"

"I told you, I **didn't** do it on purpose!"

Butch approached Buttercup as the couple continued bickering, thinking how oddly familiar it was.

It was like they were five again.

"He's such an idiot, he could just wash it off and fly until his pant leg dries," he whispers just a step back from behind her.

To say the least, the way she jumped five feet from the ground surprised him. She had always been exceptionally good at sensing him. What gives?

"Butch, you asswipe, I don't need your jokes right now," she's angry. Though about the cake or about how he managed to sneak up on her _again_ , he doesn't know.

He rolled his eyes. Honestly.

"Jesus, green, did you forget you have superpowers too?" he asks annoyingly sardonic.

All she gave him was a confused look. She's getting slow too.

"You goddamn bake. You have heat vision and work quicker than DC's Flash, sweetcheeks," he drawled.

"It would take you," he glances at his watch just for the dramatics, he already did the math in his head when he first approached her, "2 hours, _working at top speed_ , to make a mutherfucking five feet cake. Embellishments and all."

When she didn't retort he adds, " _And_ still have time to get dressed. _And_ if you're fast enough, there's still time to talk Bubbles out of this wedding."

"Oh."

"God fucking right, _oh,"_ he smiled devilishly at her.

Buttercup faced her sister who was brandishing a wooden spoon threateningly at her husband.

And a thought occurs to her.

"Why didn't Blossom think about that earlier?" she asks no one in particular.

She feels Butch shrug his shoulder, his suit jacket brushing up against her arm the material coarse and oddly soft. She takes a centimeter side step away from him. He sensed it.

"She's mad because the idiot didn't marry her properly?" he suggested.

Brick, from what Buttercup could remember from her sister's uncharacteristic gushing, did go down on one knee when he proposed. And the whole town was too interested (too _vapid_ ) to give them their privacy. A Powerpuff was engaged! To a Rowdyruff no less. You could imagine Townsville's buzz. Blossom was upset. Didn't like the attention and well, in a fit of fugue, kidnapped Brick so they could elope, a mere four months into their engagement.

The Professor wasn't happy about it, convinced that it was Brick's idea. No matter how his little girl tried to convince him otherwise.

Buttercup glances at the manboy beside her. When did he get so perceptive?

Just as the fight was about to escalate, Brick was lifting a heavy wooden cutting board, Buttercup caught their attention.

"If you two _children_ are done, we think we have a solution," the two red heads glared at her, still on the defense.

Butch roughly elbowed her.

"Butch has a solution," she begrudgingly let out.

The couple simmered down enough to let go of their weapons. Brick raised an eyebrow dubiously at his brother. _Butch came up with a plan?_ Butch made a mental note to send Blossom wasted pictures of their leader later.

"What is it?" Blossom was all business now.

"She bakes the cake."

* * *

A dress change and two hours later, Buttercup wiped the sweat off her brow. She smiled proudly at the five tier of hard work in front of her.

A low whistle was heard from the kitchen doors.

"Looking good, BC," he stalked closer and made sure to catch her attention enough to make a point that he wasn't staring at the cake, before continuing, "good enough to eat even," he smiled sharply.

The tic was back on her eyebrow. Her hand was poised to punch him but before she could, he dared a finger near the cake as if the swipe frosting from it.

Her hand roughly halted his, just like he was counting on.

Her hand was warm and the texture familiar. He was a masochist, always has been. He knows he'll end up thinking about her hands for the rest of the ceremony… and then some.

Butch made sure to keep eye contact with her. It's been too long since he's stared her straight in the eyes or since she let him, at least for this long. They were just as green, just as _indefinable_ as he remembered.

Then they narrowed a faint look of disgust on her face.

She roughly pushed his hand away, making sure it didn't catch the cake. Normally she would've kicked his ass too, but that was strangely absent; like she didn't want to touch him more than she had to.

"Don't," was her only warning.

And he's tempted to ask her which about but she already turned, walking out of the kitchen.

"I have to change back."

* * *

 **HELLO! Recently I've been itching to write a BrickxBlossom story but this one came out and it wouldn't leave me.**

 **More to come. 1/3 probably.**

 **See you guys!**

 **THOUGHTS?**


	2. Dress and a Bed

**Hi, thanks for the follows, favorites and the (3) reviews. HAHAHAA, thanks all the same.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Butch breathes in deeply through his nose. She's not far away. The hairspray, flowers, and perfumed carpet can't hide the distinct undertones of _Buttercup_ in the hotel's hallway. He followed her scent all the way from the kitchens to, he hopes, her room. And he's both proud and ashamed of this feat.

Not really knowing how to feel about this, he shrugs. He guesses being her roommate during university kind of helped his odd sensitivity to anything Buttercup.

He pauses in the hallway to groan inwardly.

God, he can't believe he sold out and actually went to university. He could still hear Brick's self-righteous lectures about _opportunities_ , _future_ , and _getting his shit together_ in the background. He sure got his ass handed to him then, to say the least Butch was now smart enough to never call his brother _Mother_ again.

Butch finds her door and adjusts his hearing.

They have about an hour until guests even arrive. He's determined to use this time to make her talk to him.

 _Before the bitch disappears again_ , he hears himself think cuttingly.

His bionic ears instantly pick up her grumbling through the locked door. She's struggling with her dress's zipper.

 _Perfect timing_ , Butch can't help but feel self-satisfied.

He knocks and fights the urge to clear his throat. By how the morning's going, she probably hasn't sensed him yet and if he's lucky enough she wouldn't think to peep through the hole.

His knuckles hadn't even left the door on the third knock when she opens it and her hair brushes her chin just catching up to speed with the rest of her. The wind from her flight catches his suit jacket too and slaps his senses with the _Buttercup_ he was trailing from the kitchens.

"Blos-," she stops when she sees it's him at her door and not her sister.

Her eyes instantly narrow.

But he doesn't catch it because he's too busy staring at her hand holding her dress up.

God **fucking** hell, _that dress_. He inwardly groans again.

All the devilishly smooth things he thought about saying earlier just completely washed out. Blank. Jesus fucking Christ, was he pathetic or what.

He rolls his eyes. And Buttercup doesn't seem to appreciate the gesture because soon enough the door's about to slam shut.

He catches it before she succeeds, though. If it were any other human, their fingers would be chopped by now. He grits his teeth, _why does she always have to be so fucking difficult_.

He grunts as he pushes the door open, forcing her to fly a few steps back. She lands softly.

"Cool it, dyke," he grinds out, Butch doesn't mean to be so cutting but seeing her after three months of radio silence is too fucking stressful.

"What do you want, piss for brains?" she's just as volatile.

Now it's his turn to fight off a migraine.

And to think they were civil just a few hours ago. The abrupt bipolar change, although common, was frustrating. Might be because of his innuendo about the cake earlier. He was never really good with social conventions. What do you say to a ( _possibly more than_ , he's still on the fence about that) _friend_ you haven't seen in three months?

Gah. Fuck it.

He tries to take in a deep calming breath. _No, fuck it, fuck it._ _ **Fuck. It.**_

"Hey, Buttercup, how was your **fucking** vacation? Haven't seen you for three **goddamn** months, how you been?" his voiced pitched sarcastically bright.

He was a child.

And just like clockwork, she flipped to defense mode.

"Up yours, Butch," she looks about tempted to hit him but remembers the dress she was holding up.

He groans out loud this time.

"Would you stop being a **_child_**? How about you turn around so I can zip you up," he's aggravated and he knows god damn why.

That goddamn dress… the goddamn bed.

Her brows go down deeper but before she could retort he flies to her. Roughly turns her around, quickly zips her dress, and was back to his side of the room before she could even begin to form a syllable.

"Now, that's out of the way, you can tell me what you've been doing for three goddamn months," he crosses his arms.

Buttercup blinks a few times. There are goose bumps where his knuckles brushed her skin. And she feels suddenly off center.

She turns around ready to screech up a storm but stops when she sees the pink on his cheeks. She knows, don't ask her how, he was crossing his arms to hide how he was clenching his right fist. Buttercup thinks about her back and everything dies on her tongue.

He makes her want to be honest.

But she remembers the wedding and she can't deal right now.

"Leave it alone, Butch," she says coolly as she makes her way to the vanity, ready to fix her makeup.

"I. Don't. Want. To," he says slowly and deliberately.

She was about to tell him it didn't matter what he wanted or not but he turned her seat around abruptly and his hands frame her hips on the cushion, his face uncomfortably close. There's a crazed look to his eyes and he looks like a drowning man. She knows he doesn't mean to look so open.

Buttercup has known him since they were five and he was never the type to be so sloppy.

It throws her in for a loop, the thought that tough as nails Butch would be so human around her.

"Talk to me, BC." his voice soft, like how he first greeted her a few hours ago.

It still made her feel like a girl.

Even if it was laced with frustration. Jesus.

 _What did I do wrong_? He doesn't say it but she hears it. Only pansy girls thought like this, she's annoyed at herself. And at Butch who's making her turn into one. What more, she's starting to believe he was actually earnest.

She's finding it so easy now, months later from their… incident.

"Why can't you let it go?" the way she doesn't curse lets him know she was serious.

His face contorts into something furious.

But just as quickly he's upright again and an indifferent look replaces his angry one.

He adjusts his suit and shows her his sharp teeth.

"You're an idiot," they grind out.

Butch calmly walks to the terraces' sliding door.

Before he opens it he says over his shoulders, "don't think I haven't noticed you're turning your powers off around me."

 _Can't handle being too sensitive around me?_ It's thrown in the air somewhere in between.

Buttercup doesn't know what he sounds like but it isn't the shit eating easygoing Butch she knows.

He jumps from the ledge and it's not until two heart stopping seconds later does she see his green beam fly off.

She let's go of the breath she's holding, thankful her floor was so high up.

* * *

 **GUYS I NEED LOVE. 2/3.**


	3. Flashbacks and Conversations

Butch's eyes are closed. His fingers massage his temples, willing his irritation to ebb away.

God, he could really tear down a building right now.

He breathes through his nose, deeply.

Above it all, there's a feeling of defensiveness.

"Mitch," he says coolly and opens his eyes, "mind saying that _one more_ time?"

It was apparent that he was done with their conversation.

If it were any other person they would've sensed the danger in the ruff's deadly calm voice but it's Mitch and he's been the psycho's best friend since they were _seven._

He internally scoffs.

He's used to the death threats. Near death experiences (dropped _mid-flight_ because the fucker **Felt. Like. It** ) and the haywire-ness of Butch is normal now. He's used to that.

He's used to Butch lying his ass off too and knows when the idiot's lying to _himself_ even.

He needed new friends.

Mitch rolls his eyes and just passes the bong.

"Dude, you live in the same building but you're over her flat most of the time, you say nothing's happened! _All_ I'm saying," his eyebrows rise high on his brow, "why not just make a move and get things done with," he pauses thoughtfully, "Never pegged you for the shy type, man," a chuckle makes its way out of his throat and Mitch likes how it progresses into a laugh, so he continues it.

Butch's too high to be irritated right now so he makes a face of disgust.

"How can say that," Butch takes a hit, "you're one _twisted_ mutherfucker, you know that right Mitch?" his voice strained from keeping the smoke in his lungs before exhaling, "It's goddamn Buttercup," he over dramatically shudders, "Gah, that," he points at Mitch, "is too goddamn wrong on so many levels."

Mitch can't be bothered to keep a straight face.

"You're an idiot, Butch!" Mitch openly laughed, "Man, you have **pined** over BC since before we even moved here. Or don't you remember how fucked up you got when she started dating that one guy in high school, Jesus what was that fucker's name again?" Mitch squinted his eyes, searching for a name through the fog.

He hears Butch mutters something he couldn't catch.

"What was that, man?" he asked before taking another hit.

"Mark, the fucker's name was Mark," he begrudgingly supplies. Butch roughly takes the bong from Mitch before taking a long deep hit.

Mitch points at Butch triumphantly.

"Exactly."

* * *

That was two years ago and he's now near twenty five. And he's not as in denial (like some people) as he was before but he's still as clueless.

He doesn't **know** what to do.

He doesn't want to back out.

He doesn't want her to continue being an idiot.

But he wasn't going to say it. He wasn't going to fucking say _anything_ sentimental. God fuck her if she expects him to be like his brothers and _cave_ in.

He won't out right say anything and if she's too stupid to understand why he wants her or why he can't let go what happened to them three months ago then he's better off.

Or at least that's what he tells himself as he flies around the city trying to kill the urge to fly back to her hotel room and just... **beg.**

Beg like some lovesick dickhead.

Butch grits his teeth and flies _faster._

He's clueless. Still grasping at straws.

He doesn't know what to do if she **won't** let herself want him. He doesn't know what to do if she **doesn't** want him.

* * *

It's wasn't like he didn't make an effort, Buttercup concedes.

In a Butch-hardass way he **did** make efforts. Where other boys would buy her flowers _(yuck)_ or stuffed toys _(bullshit),_ he showed her. In the little things.

* * *

 _PART 1_

Buttercup opened her door only to find Butch lounging on her couch, watching something on her Netflix.

She groans out loud. Too tired to beat him up but all the same she feels the beginnings of a hissy fit.

"Geez, Butch, I locked every window, changed my bolts, how the fuck did you even get in?" she throws her keys unnecessarily hard into the bowl by the door and drags her feet to the kitchen.

It's been a long day.

Buttercup wasn't in the mood to wash his dishes or clean up the mess he made while she was at work. Butch was too lazy to apartment hunt so when she found a building, he immediately signed a lease of his own even when she threatened him not to. He lived two floors up now.

He's been a nightmare. Sure, she had been roommates with him before but at least Robin was there to clean up his mess.

 _Crap, wasn't I suppose to call her?_

Her irritation grows as she clears the modest kitchen's threshold. At least she could take it out on Butch if he fucked her kitchen. Bastard.

What greets her aren't dirty dishes or opened cupboards. And it wasn't exactly a home cooked meal but it was nearly as astonishing. Astonishing at least to her too addled mind.

The kitchen's _spotless._ No mess, no nothing. Even her dirty dishes from breakfast weren't in the sink.

Buttercup's instantly suspicious. Her eyes narrow before she can stop them.

She turns around, already knowing he was at the kitchen bar, ready to accuse him.

The sight of him only made her more irritated.

He rests his chin on a propped up arm, lazily inspecting a cherry from a bowl on the counter, looking like the cat who ate the canary.

"Shocked? Awed? Grateful? Oh _wait,_ I know all three, right?" he pops the cherry into his mouth before smiling sharply at her the fruit cheekily in between his teeth.

And his grin is so shit eating, so smug, that she wants nothing more than to hurl herself at him and beat him up. Damn her tired bones and all.

What's more, he looks... He looks like he belongs here. In her apartment, leaning over her kitchen counter, wearing a grin that's strangely... endearing.

She wants him out. Now.

* * *

 _PART 2_

Buttercup feels a hand on the small of her back.

She fights to keep her blood pressure down.

"You better have a good reason for putting your filthy hand there, pencildick," she's just as threatening even in a dress. But really she doesn't want him to feel the spike in her chest.

"Chill, Ice Queen," he pulls her in closer and moves to stand in front of her. She fights the unlady-like urge to push him roughly away.

"What in-" he cuts her off by bending his lips close to her right ear.

"Two o'clock," he whispers.

Her eyes instantly flits to her right, pressing closer to the side of his face so she could take a better look over his shoulder. Her right side is confusingly numb but hyperaware of the slight brush her ear and his cheek make.

 **Focus.**

She instantly spots the two well dressed older gentlemen by the bar, smoking Cubans. They might have been old but their white hair made them look distinguished. They looked strangely fit, too.

"They've been leering at you since we got here," they're attending a high sorority charity dinner Blossom and Brick couldn't grace because they were on their honeymoon. Bubbles and Boomer were at a art show two cities over on date night.

Typical.

So she was forced to put on a dress. And if she had to suffer for the public image of Powerpuff Girls then the idiot had to too. Though technically they weren't an official fused team, the public still saw the ruffs as pseudo-heroes.

She blinks her eyes, a little too slow tonight because she realizes she likes how he styles his hair now that she's up close to it.

But why was he so close again?

She was about to ask _what about the gentlemen_ when she realizes something else. He's blocking their view of her.

The numbness and sensitivity go away. In their place, righteous anger bubbles up.

"What makes you think I can't handle them!" she harshly whispers in his ear.

He surprises her by taking her other hand and holding it up together with his.

She's too stunned to pull away.

Butch has been doing 360's over the years and it's unsettling and (goddamn her) thrilling at the same time.

 _You're dancing_ , a voice in her head helpfully supplies.

 _I don't want them staring at you_ , is what she hears as he sways them slowly. It's a girly thought. Something Bubbles might have but she hears him say it without uttering anything.

They've had **conversations** like this since the dawn of their friendship. That's why they made the best team in high school. It's not new but Buttercup knows it's not common either. Whatever this was.

She admits her heart spikes when she feels the slightest of tremors from his hand.

Butch, in one of his rare moments, is silent. No devilish innuendos or zingers. No comebacks.

It's different and Buttercup feels soft in his arms. It's the first time she feels something in any man's embrace since... Since Mark, actually.

Fuck it.

She moves the hand that wasn't in his to rest on his bicep. She slowly tucks her chin in, gives into the girly urge and just closes her eyes.

This way she can feel his chest thudding and she faintly smell the cologne she bought him as a joke when they moved in their apartments. He was so pissed about her insinuating he reeked that he completely flew Off. The. Handle.

She thought he broke the bottle.

* * *

 _PART 3_

Buttercup turns around before she unlocks the door, she couldn't take his odd silence anymore.

They came from a night out with the gang and he's been trailing slightly behind her since they stepped off the elevator. His apartment was two floors up.

"Butch, you really didn't have to walk me to my door," she says not unkindly, tired too.

She thinks it's a little weird how she's not always mad at him anymore.

His hands are in his pockets and shrugs, still not saying anything.

She waits. When he doesn't continue she rolls her eyes long-sufferingly.

"Good night then, captain," she salutes him sarcastically.

Her door's halfway open when he decides to speak up.

"I can take care of you."

She instantly **bristles** but he continues before she could get a word in about how she **didn't** _need_ help.

"I know," he rests his thumb and index tiredly over his eyelids, "I **_know_** you can handle things, believe me, I know," he shakes his hand in a frustrated gesture, "But, just," he's having trouble with words and she waits for him patiently, arms _crossed_ and eyebrow _arched._

"I can take care of you," he finishes lamely.

He looks frustrated. By the look on her face, he probably wasn't making sense too.

He grinds his teeth.

"You can trust me," it comes out unwittingly, fuck he's had too much to drink tonight.

He clears his oddly dry throat, "You can trust me to look after you, Buttercup, I have your back," he lets out a self-depreciating laugh, "I might _be_ a jackass but I _do_ have your back," he moves his gaze from the floor to her blank face, her hair's past her chin now he notices absently, "honest," he says after awhile and throws in a crooked grin, a little insecurely too she notices.

Buttercup doesn't know what to say. She needed that.

The night has been spent talking about past significant others much to the chagrin of the married red ruff. And to say the least her list was the most dismal and the least romantic or even _nice._ Her last mildly successful relationship was her first one - Mark. And that didn't leave her so hot after even. Best friends didn't make the best lovers, she guesses.

She's too smart to make the same mistake again. But Butch...

It was... nice to hear. Not that she doesn't already know that he has her back but it was... Nice. She's grateful. She doesn't know how to say it though. Their friendship was never really the verbal kind.

So she nods.

He does too, "Good night, Buttercup."

"Good night, Butch."

It's not the first time she's felt something akin to girl-like shyness around him, she reflects as she makes her way into her apartment.

She hates it even more now because it made her forget to tell him that she had his back too.

* * *

She tries to talk to Blossom about it, their first Christmas after graduation, just a few months after she felt the shift.

Buttercup settles uncomfortably beside her sister on the sofa. She's been home only two days and she's already had her fill of the Professor's overbearingness - endearing as it was, everybody had their limits.

"Hey, Blossom?" she starts but her voice crackles.

Blossom looks questioningly at her sister but nods her head to continue.

Buttercup's wringing the sofa cushion on her lap in an uncharacteristic show of nervousness.

Blossom's instantly intrigued. But doesn't lower the tv volume, knowing Buttercup might take it badly and leave without finishing their conversation.

"What is it, Buttercup?" she asks when she doesn't continue.

"Do your powers ever, I don't know, feel more sensitive?" she tries to say casually but Blossom knows her sister.

Buttercup's eyes flit to hers and catches the flash of realization on Blossom's features and instantly clams up.

"Forget it." She says quickly right before Blossom could put in her two cents. She's been dating Brick since their first year in university. The new city and campus daunting enough to bring them together, though they fought tooth and nail against it.

She on the other hand has been... close to Butch ever since she broke his femur in a grudge match. That was in their freshman year of high school. If she was being honest, she would've admitted her powers had always been sensitive when it came to Butch. She'd be four classrooms over and she would still be able to pick up his asinine laugh over the din of teen spirit. It was annoying, it still is.

Buttercup stubbornly focuses back on the screen. Fuck whatever she had to say. Fuck Butch and how confused he was making her. Jesus, you would think that at twenty two she would've figured boys out by now.

When she sees Blossom open her mouth again she growls, "Forget. It." Low dark and deadly.

They never bring it up again.

* * *

Buttercup's tempted to bring it up with Blossom again.

But Bubbles was getting married today, so she chooses instead to be the good sister.

She makes a compromise with herself. If she can't handle her Butch problem (more than she couldn't now) then she'd talk about it with Blossom. No matter how it goes against everything that she is. Talking about the _feelings._

Buttercup shakes her head turning back around from Blossom's hallway.

After the wedding.

* * *

The ceremony goes off without any hitch.

Butch walks with her down the isle, doesn't even give her a second glance.

She's mildly enraged by this. Buttercup doesn't exactly stews in her seat but she feels... Uncomfortable in her own skin.

It's not a great feeling.

What's more she feels like she needed to apologize. To _him_ of **all** people.

She tsk'ed before brushing it off.

* * *

Buttercup's not exactly in her cups yet but she's well on her way.

Like how it takes more than a punch to knock a puff down, a bottle worth of cocktails won't do.

She twiddles with the tiny black straw of her drink, sitting down while everyone else danced.

"That wasn't very nice," the Professor's voice isn't harsh but Buttercup instantly feels shame.

Her father takes the empty seat beside hers. They were assigned the same table but she's been avoiding eye contact with him all night.

She still doesn't look up.

They're silent for awhile before Buttercup caves in.

"I'm sorry," she was never tough when it came to the Professor.

The Professor wipes a hand down his face. She feels ten times more apologetic and shameful. But she doesn't know how to explain herself.

"I _know_ you girls are old enough to do things without having to tell me but it'd be nice to know when your daughter decides to go globe trotting, no matter if it was to build houses in third world countries," he doesn't sound mad but Buttercup knows he's not happy.

She feels five again.

"I won't do it again, I promise," she says solemnly.

The Professor quirks an eyebrow.

"What? Helping people?" he says lightly.

Despite the heaviness earlier, Buttercup smiles. Trust the Professor to pull a dad joke of all times.

She laughs a little as the Professor pulls her in a side hug and kisses the top of her head.

They were all right.

That's more than what she could say for her and Butch, though.

Her gaze accurately pinpoints him. He looked as dismal as she felt. Again, something lurches in her chest, she rubs at it absentmindedly.

"Hey, Professor," she says still leaning against him.

"Hmm?"

"I have to go take care of something."

* * *

 **BOO. 3/4 I LIED.**

 **Thank you, readers! for the reviews and follows and favorites!**

 **It felt wrong posting this because BC felt OOC really.**

 **But whatevs.**

 **I hoped you guys enjoyed it and it had more _fluff_ you guys requested.**

 **One more.**


	4. Pride and Fences

She kissed him.

Full and on the mouth, unapologetic. The surest she's ever been in her entire life. But just as frightened. She backpedals as he takes big secure steps forward like he's been waiting for this one moment and didn't even know it.

And surely he must have, what with how he's feeling. Like every sad thought he's ever had was completely gone. Like every day from when they first met to today was building up to this one time in space. If he had a soul, he imagines it would be filling up by now. Faster and fuller than anything in this here mortal world. And that's a big feeling, especially for one who thinks himself so god-like.

This. This didn't even need effort.

It felt like… breathing. Breathing deeper and fuller than he thought was capable.

If he were sentimental, he'd say she was breathing life into him. But he wasn't. Or he liked to convince himself and the world so earnestly at least.

He thinks, maybe… Mitch was right. He did have feelings for a green puff.

The kind with razorblades for teeth and a wit to match.

He detaches his lips from hers and tries to breathe without her. And he must be hysterical from the lack of oxygen that he laughs as he buries his face in her neck. He breathes in deeply and pulls her closer and it's the best feeling in the world. Better than free falling from such great heights and feeling his own mortality for few long seconds. He feels everything… as he finally lets his heart beat to the rhythm he's kept from it for so long.

And he feels alive. Finally.

He smiles, something genuine. He finally looks at her and it hurts his pride to say but he knew he wore a grateful look. She was the answer and damn his ego but she was the answer he needed. He finally stopped lying to himself.

She didn't look scared per se but her eyes were glassy.

Was she happy? Happy (he finally found the word to describe it) like he was?

Did he make her happy?

He hoped to God (if there was one) that he did.

He waits for her move. Like he has been for twenty five years. Her move. Because for all his bravado, he really was the sensitive type - especially when it came to her.

She brushes his wayward hair from his forehead and the way her eyes bulge a little tells him she didn't do it on purpose. Her eyes flickering down to his lips were all the sign he needed. He kisses her and lifts her up until her legs wrap around him. He carries them to his room. Shuts the door like he's shutting out the world. A world with just the two of them sounded like heaven's answer right about now.

* * *

When he wakes up, she's beside him lying on her side facing him. Her eyes flicker away shyly. She had been watching him while he slept.

And it was so uncharacteristic of her. It was… new. And, still high from what happened last night, he thinks it's the most beautiful she's ever been. More beautiful than the whole nine yards get up for a fancy gala some rich nobody cooked up.

Hair mused and sleep still in the corner of her eyes. She was gorgeous. And _mine_.

He kisses her deeply and softly. It still felt like breathing. That only made him kiss her more deeply. The way her hand flutters on his chest and the way she won't look him in the eye as they get ready for the day should have been a warning enough but he's an idiot, too high – too _happy_ to be pulled down.

He leaves for work and comes back in the evening. Chinese take-away in one hand, he walks into her empty apartment.

* * *

Just as quickly as she pulled down his walls, they come back right up.

Too angry to admit he was hurt, he mucks through life like she was never a part of it.

And when she comes back, he pretends like she didn't have an effect on him. Pretends like he doesn't know what she does to him.

He pretends so well that he even fools himself. But she's a force. Stronger than anything and… still gorgeous.

He free falls from her hotel balcony and pretends he's alive but he knows the only way to breathe again was locked up in a fortified stronghold. He needed her. And finally admitting that was the hardest thing in the world, especially for a boy like him with a pride so big it pulls him down.

* * *

Who was he kidding? They were more than friends. He wasn't sitting on the fence anymore – he was waiting for her to finally jump down. He's been waiting for longer than his pride would admit.

And the fucked up thing? He doesn't care that she changed her mind mid-jump. He's still fucking hoping she'd come down. He peels his beer's label while he broods sitting in a corner, not even minding the music and celebrating people around him. How can he have a good time when even in a room filled to the brink with people and flowers he still smells her? And it was getting stronger by the minute... wait.

His eyes flick to the side and he sees her colored toes, shy as they approach him. He traces her smooth legs up to the pastel green dress, up to her girlish neck and finally to her eyes. They're not looking at him but to a point lower. He follows them to the outstretched bottle in her hand.

 _The roof?_

God, if he can still hear her speak without talking even after three months apart then he doesn't know what he'll do if she decides she doesn't need him.

Like the masochist he was, he follows her. Up to the roof, up to wherever for all he cares.

God he'd even follow her around the world even if it meant building goddamn houses. For her… anything. Fuck it if she needed him or not. He's always been selfish and greedy. She made him feel alive and that was addicting and weakening especially for one who thinks himself so invincible.

 _Fuck me, I'm fucking_ _ **screwed**_. And if he was being honest, he's been screwed since forever.

* * *

 **HI. So remember how I said this would be a 3/3 chaptered story? well i'm pretty sure it's going to turn into 5. so you know. heads up, there's more.**

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